


Consummation

by prairiecrow



Series: Camouflage/Disclosure/Possession/Consummation [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: First Time, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Ritual Combat, Seduction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:12:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak has won the ritual combat against Primator Assok, and Julian Bashir is one prize who is very willing to be claimed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Set shortly before the S2 episode "The Jem-Hadar".
> 
> 2) This story is made possible through the generous contributions of the wonderful bmouse, who commissioned me to write in order to help me over a nasty crunch. A thousand thanks to my first ever official patron! :D

Julian Bashir received more than his share of looks askance from those he encountered as he strode through the corridors of the habitat ring toward Garak's quarters, but he had expected no less given the unusual outfit he was wearing — and how little it left to the imagination, regardless of the fact that it completely covered his entire body except for his head and his hands. The archaic riding costume was also at odds with what he carried: a first aid medical kit on a strap over his right shoulder and a large black Durex sports bag slung over his left. Enough to provoke curious glances indeed… and a few knowing smiles, because by now word of Garak's defeat of Primator Assok had surely circled the station at least ten times over, as well as the news that he'd left the Infirmary still bruised and contused, quite possibly in need of further medical attention. 

Which was exactly what Julian intended to provide, among other things. 

He knew he appeared calm and collected, but internally he was still reeling slightly from what he'd witnessed a few hours previous. He'd known that Garak was dangerous, and he'd strongly suspected that the Cardassian wouldn't scruple to do whatever needed to be done to accomplish his goals — no, strength of will was never something that he would ever accuse Garak of lacking. But the reality… 

"I just hope this won't wind up getting too bloody," Julian had muttered, half to himself, as he'd stood beside the ring watching Garak and Assok warm themselves up in their respective quarters. Quark, to whom he'd sort of directed the remark, had turned in place to almost gape at him. 

"Too —?" The Ferengi had shaken his head, slowly smiling. "You've obviously never seen a jealous male Cardassian in action." 

"As a matter of fact, no, I haven't." But that wasn't quite true: he'd seen the look in Garak's eyes the one and only time the spy had kissed him, cold blue eyes telegraphing pure intent to commit violence in Assok's direction. Which didn't bode well for the present circumstances, now that he thought about it. 

Quark had grinned hugely. "Let's just say that even if Garak wasn't already packing a whole lot of tricks up his sleeve, I wouldn't exactly give the Primator good odds. They'll tear through solid duranium to keep what's theirs, and they don't stop for anything. And I do mean, _anything_." 

"You don't say." His heart, which had already been weighing heavy in the vicinity of his duodenum, had sunk even lower, and his one faint hope of talking Garak out of this madness had vanished along with it… but did he even understand the tailor's motivations in the first place? After all, it wasn't like Garak was doing this because he was _really_ jealous: he'd made it amply clear over the past three months that he wasn't interested in Julian Subatoi Bashir that way at all. Frankly he'd had no idea _what_ Garak's reasons actually were, but whatever they were, he was fairly certain that sexual passion didn't actually have anything to do with it. 

There had been both bitterness and sweetness in that realization: sorrow because desire was what he'd wanted most from the charming, infuriating and enigmatic man, and gladness because if Garak was approaching this from a purely rational perspective, he'd be more likely to concede the match if he started to lose badly. Julian was a physician, habituated to the sight of suffering, but Garak's pain was never something that he'd ever become entirely inured to, of that he was certain. The prospect that Garak would back down before getting horrifically injured had provided him with some measure of comfort under the currently far from ideal circumstances.  

But then…. well, then the ritual combat had actually begun, and in short order Julian had ended up staring in disbelief, stunned at the way his jovial and somewhat plump lunch companion had suddenly transformed into a prowling tiger, complete with toothy snarl and eyes that practically blazed with their own inner fire. He'd seen hints of this during the episode with the malfunctioning implant, while Garak was talking about his probably mythical past, but this was different somehow — he couldn't have put his finger on exactly how, but there was a quality to Garak's menace that was so clearly intimate, so _personal_ , that in that wordless communication he had clearly seen what words could so easily be used to conceal. Garak wasn't defending an ideal, or even his beloved Cardassia: he was fighting for something that he considered _his_ , and… 

Julian's heart had soared toward the rafters: _Dear God, it's_ ** _me_** _he's fighting for! That_ ** _is_** _what this is really all about!_ He'd found himself forgetting to breathe, every catastrophic blow that Garak took feeling like it was shattering his own flesh and blood. It was almost beyond endurance: twice he'd felt Commander Sisko's hand on his arm, holding him back from sprinting into the arena and stopping the carnage, but when it was all over Garak had been the last one standing, albeit for less than five seconds before internal organ damage finally took him down. Sprinting to catch him and lower him to the sand, then scanning his battered body, Julian had been absolutely amazed at the extent of the injuries, and that Garak had managed to stay on his feet for so long with that much internal bleeding and what was undoubtedly a tremendous amount of pain. But in the end all that had mattered was that he was still alive, and that once they were transported to the Infirmary he was within Julian's power to save.  

And yet — infuriating indeed! — he hadn't stayed for the full course of treatment, leaving with numerous cuts and bruises still unhealed. But maybe, as Garak himself might say, it was for the best: after all, it gave Julian a clear excuse to come to his quarters with a dermal regenerator, and who was to say that such an outcome hadn't been Garak's plan all along? But somehow Julian doubted it: the expression on the spy's face when Julian had suggested it, so surprised and then so wary, had carried its own frequency of truth. Garak had fought for him, and had legally won him, but Garak was still hesitating to claim his prize. Honestly, the man had raised the practice of caution to the level of an Olympic sport, which would almost be admirable if it wasn't so bloody frustrating. 

Reaching the door of Chamber 901 of Habitat Level H-3, Julian gave his outfit a final once-over downward glance and smiled to himself. Well, this prize was oh, so very willing to be claimed — and Garak would have to have ice water in his veins to resist the gambit that Julian intended to play next. 

He touched the door chime and waited, raising his chin and drawing back his shoulders to present the most confident picture imaginable when the portal opened, his pulse beginning to beat more quickly in keen anticipation of Garak's reaction to what he next beheld. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was a few seconds before the door actually opened to reveal Garak himself, almost enough time for Julian to start getting truly nervous — what if the Cardassian wasn't even home? what if he'd been played for a fool yet again? — and Garak's bland smile didn't alter as his gaze parsed his visitor's form and face. "Ah, Doctor! What a pleasant surprise!" 

 _Still playing this game? After all that he's done on my behalf?_ He covered his initial disappointment with a smile of his own, even as his determination to win strengthened exponentially. "I don't see how it could be," he countered smoothly, "considering that we both agreed that I'd stop by after my duty shift to attend to your remaining bruises and cuts." 

"So we did," Garak chuckled, suddenly expansive, and stood aside with a gracious sweep of his arm. "Please, do come in!" 

"Thank you, I think I will." He strode into the suite past his host, taking in its details with a panning glance — nothing appeared to have been changed since his last, rather unpleasant visit — and simultaneously aware that Garak was surveying him rather keenly after all as he passed. "How are you feeling? Any new or worsening pain?" 

"Not at all. In fact, I just woke up from a nap a few minutes ago." He was perfectly groomed and fully dressed in a sleek black ensemble, and when Julian stopped and turned toward him again he found Garak surveying him critically. "I really must, ask, Doctor — do you make a habit of visiting all your patients dressed so… extravagantly?" 

Julian grinned. "Only the most special ones," he purred, fully aware of how his present outfit flattered him: the way the white linen shirt, softly clinging to his chest, and the white silk scarf, wound tight to his throat and trailing down the back of his finely cut riding coat of claret velvet, heightened the tone of his dark skin, and furthermore how the neat little coat, which stopped at the waist, highlighted his slim figure within his skin-tight doeskin breeches. Every detail of it, down to the gleaming black riding boots, had been calculated to accentuate his finest points, and to judge by the gleam of interest that had kindled in Garak's eyes in spite of his skeptical expression this particular strategy was succeeding after all. "And those I intend to take into a holosuite shortly, of course." 

His eyebrow ridges quirked upward. "A holosuite? Forgive me, but I've had a rather busy day already, and —" 

He held up one hand. "Nothing too strenuous, I promise. In fact, I'm taking you someplace where we can relax in greater comfort than either of our quarters has to offer." 

The spy took a slow step closer, cocking his head a little to one side, his voice soft. "I see. And if I should persist in my disinterest?" 

Still smiling, he glanced down at the Durex bag slung over his shoulder. "Then I'll have replicated this fine coat for nothing and I'd be out the money I've already paid to hold the suite. You wouldn't want me to be down five strips of latinum for no good cause, would you?" 

A pause, as Garak's gaze ran down Julian's body once more. This time it lingered with almost palpable intensity on every point: the silky flow of the scarf, the sharp gleam of the shirt, the embrace of the coat, the flawless smoothness of the breeches. It might have been merely professional interest in the fit of the replicated cloth, but Julian's body's response suggested otherwise. When Garak's eyes had evaluated the glossy boots and flicked back up to his face he also fancied that he felt them catch at his groin, which was reacting to the attention and which he made absolutely no effort to conceal.  

"That _would_ be a pity," Garak agreed as if reluctant to concede the point. 

"Well, I'm glad you see it that way." He nodded toward the couch standing against the far wall. "But first I'll need to take care of all those cuts and bruises. Sit down, please, and remove your tunic and thermal undershirt." 

Garak didn't actually brace his feet further apart and dig in his heels physically, but that was the distinct impression Julian got. "I assure you, I'm perfectly —" 

"Elim." He used the name deliberately, letting his tongue linger over each syllable — the higher pitched vowel, the gliding consonant, the rounded hum of the finish. And he saw the way he tasted it hit home in the slightest widening of the blue eyes he was gazing into, unblinking. "I'm not playing that game with you tonight. I almost saw you die today — for my sake — and it's time for me to take care of you in the manner you deserve." He crossed the few steps that separated them and raised his right hand, tracing an angry-looking cut close to the line of the Cardassian's left jaw with a tender touch of his index and middle fingertips. "Please — permit me to do this for you. Haven't we both earned that much, at least?" 

He saw the sudden proximity and physical contact strike even deeper than the name had. For a fraction of a second Garak looked like a wild stag that has just caught the scent of the hounds — his chin came up, his nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed with fierce and wary fire. It was a microsecond of perilous balance: the slightest miscalculation and he would be gone, emotionally if not physically. The predator that had awakened to deal with Primator Assok was looking Julian directly in the eyes, something ancient and saurian, operating on animal instincts bred in distant soil beneath an alien sky. 

It demanded an equally instinctive response. Not knowing whether it was the right or the wrong thing to do, Julian stepped forward again to press his left cheek to Garak's right, slowly and gently stroking skin against skin, curving his right hand against the other side of the Cardassian's jaw. He felt each tiny scale, surprisingly soft, almost silken; he felt the cool temperature of both skin and breath, not unexpected but nonetheless undeniably thrilling. And he felt a shock of tension run through Garak's entire body, infusing the bare centimetre of space that separated their torsos with a subliminal high-pitched vibration. 

One Human heartbeat. Two. Three, and he felt another change — the slightest downshift, a settling rather than flight.  

"Very well, Doctor." A barely inflected breath in his left ear. "If you insist…" 

He released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, managing not to gasp it out in a relieved rush. "I do," he murmured in return, and took a step back again, knowing — hoping — that it was now safe to give Garak his space. It was difficult to remove his hand from that rounded cheek, but he managed to do so, and to gesture toward the couch with a sweep of that hand. "After you. I'll need a moment to calibrate the regenerator." 

A brisk nod, although their gazes remained locked. "Of course." He studied the Human for a second longer before turning away, leaving Julian to set the sports bag and medical kit down on the dining table and remove the regenerator. He'd gotten past the first two barriers — Garak's door and the all-important initial physical contact — but Garak himself was a vast dark stretch of unknown territory and he had no idea how many landmines were buried along its borders. 

He knew one, thing, though, as he turned around to see the spy shrugging out of his tunic and setting it neatly aside over the back of the couch: that he'd always savoured the exploration of the strange and the new, and that the taste he'd had of what lay at the end of that journey made it worth any risk and any danger — and any amount of keen thought and careful handling. 

Smiling ever so slightly, he performed the necessary calibrations and renewed his approach.

[TO BE CONTINUED]


	3. Chapter 3

By the time he got to the couch Garak was sitting down, neatly arranged — and still clad in a thermal undershirt that covered his chest and his stomach. Julian sighed as he took his own seat with his right knee touching the Cardassian's left, and reflected that Rome wasn't built in a day. "Well, I can see your arms now, at any rate. Let's start with the injuries to your face and limbs, and then we'll see about your torso." 

Garak smiled thinly as Human fingertips touched the underside of his chin, guiding him slightly forward. He appeared perfectly composed once more, his expression serene and his blue eyes devoid of any emotion except a twinkle of amusement. "I assure you, your ministrations in the Infirmary were quite sufficient to —" 

He grimaced, making no effort to hide his annoyance as he turned his attention to the cut he'd traced less than a minute previous. "Garak, I have no intention of running my hands over your body later and provoking a series of _Ow_ s and _Ouch_ es. We're going to take thorough care of your remaining bruises and cuts before we proceed to —" 

"To what, exactly?" He still seemed more amused than anything else, damn him to the Nine Hells! "You seem to be assuming —" 

"Don't talk while I'm using the regenerator, please." Then, after Garak had closed his mouth with rare obedience: "As I was saying, I won't have you wincing and exclaiming in pain while I'm doing my level best to introduce you to whole new realms of pleasure, so every cut and every bruise is going to be completely erased before we go to the holosuite." 

Garak held up his right hand, and when Julian lowered the regenerator and raised an eyebrow at him he interjected: "Without even a pause for dinner first?" 

"There'll be a light meal waiting for us at our final destination. Now, hush!"  

"Hrm," Garak mumbled irrepressibly, but he kept his mouth shut and his gaze fixed on the space past Julian's left ear as he deftly repaired each facial injury. After three or so minutes that region was clear, and when Julian took hold of his right wrist and drew that arm into a position where he could address its bruises, he felt free to speak again: "That's very considerate of you, I must say." 

"Mm, yes. I rather thought so." 

"But," Garak continued, his eyes now fixed on his guest's downturned face, "you do appear to be operating under the assumption that I _want_ to join you in an overpriced holosuite for a romantic tryst." 

Julian glanced up from a nasty bruise on his bicep to meet his gaze directly. "Would you prefer that we forgo the romance entirely and simply fuck like rabbits?" 

Garak blinked as if mildly surprised. "I'm not entirely sure what a rabbit is, but I think the safest answer in this case would be 'no, thank you'."  

"Right. Slow, tender, passionate lovemaking it is, then." He went back to erasing the bruise. "Although if you change your mind later and decide that you want me to ride you into the mattress, I'll be happy to accommodate you." 

"Are all Humans this… blatant?" Garak asked almost piteously. 

Julian wasn't fooled. "They are when they've spent three months being put off and led in circles by someone who clearly wanted them just as badly as they wanted him." 

He tilted his head to one side, studying Julian with an intensity he could feel even without looking up. Softly he said, "And you're sure of that, are you?" 

A little huff of breath, exasperated. " _Garak_ —" 

"Doctor, I've already explained to you that I accepted the Primator's challenge because —" 

He couldn't help tightening his grip on Garak's scaled elbow hard enough to definitely make his displeasure felt — possibly even hard enough to hurt. "Yes, and this time I noticed that you didn't even bother to make up a particularly convincing lie, not even one about doing it on behalf of Cardassia, which would have been eminently believable under the circumstances." 

Another blink, as if butter wouldn't melt in his perplexed mouth. "But I _did_ do it on behalf of —" 

"That's not what was blazing in your eyes while you were doing your level best to kill the Primator." 

"Doctor… you are aware that when Cardassian males are in a combat situation we tend to become highly focussed, aren't you?" 

"Focussed? I can believe that, yes." He erased the last tint of purple on Garak's grey bicep and tidied up a few additional tiny subdural hematomas on his way down to another deep dark mark on the spy's inner forearm. "But if you're trying to tell me that what I saw was entirely the result of simple uncomplicated aggression —" 

"Listen to me, Julian." 

The quiet tone of Garak's voice — and more importantly, that first ever use of his first name — stopped him in his tracks. He turned off the regenerator and looked up, to find himself being regarded with unblinking intensity. "What I'm telling you is that you really don't want to look into this too closely." 

"I don't —" He stared in disbelief, his mouth falling open a little. "Why on Earth not?" 

"For one thing, we're not on Earth. For another…" A long searching gaze, the quality of silence somehow heavier than any of the rare word-free spaces that had ever arisen between them in the past. "If I asked you to respect my privacy, would you?" 

"Garak…" It was a question with no easy answer, not under the circumstances, when all he wanted to do was to break this man's secrets wide open like so many jewelled eggs. He drew a slow deep breath and released it in a soft rush. "I think we've already established that when it comes to your health — or to your happiness — I won't hesitate to ask the questions that need to be asked. And in this case I'm not really asking a question at all — you could say nothing from this moment on, not one solitary word that wasn't an elaborate lie, and I wouldn't press you for the truth."  

He lowered the regenerator and slid his hand down to take the cool grey fingers in his own, looking down at the way their skins contrasted, antique silver with burnished gold, before raising his eyes to meet that keen blue gaze squarely. "I'm not asking — I'm offering, the way you offered yourself to me when you stepped into that challenge ring. You've won the right to call me yours, and I don't understand why you're hesitating to take advantage of that." The intensity of Garak's gaze hadn't wavered, and after a moment Julian steeled himself to state: "Unless you really _don't_ want me, at all, and you're dancing around the issue with your usual damned evasiveness. Is that it?" He tightened his grip on the spy's hand, trying to communicate sincerity through the power of touch. "If it is, Elim… I need you to just tell me. No guessing games. No smoke and mirrors. If I'm wrong, and you really want me to leave, I will — but I'd much, much rather be with you tonight, if you'll grant me the privilege." 

He held his breath. And after another long moment, Garak cocked his head to one side… 

[TO BE CONTINUED]


End file.
